Walk Me Home
by rAbiDmutt03
Summary: A simple change often lead to unexpected outcomes. What if Eragon and Murtagh had become friends earlier on when they were young? What if hints of their shared lineage were revealed?How could this change the course of events yet to come?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **If I _did_ own Eragon then the book would have probably been a big flop.

**Notes:**Hey there!After a year-long hiatus, I have finally gotten the will to write a new and hopefully better Eragon fic. You may know of my original penname ace03cute which I turned into 3rddeath, and now in my new account, as rAbiDmutt, I shall be posting my fics. This is about what could have happened if Eragon and Murtagh had met once before, when they were still children.

**WALK ME HOME**

A sea of brown swam into Roran's blurred vision as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He had been sleeping peacefully on his bed when the air was none-too-gently forced from his lungs by some unknown entity, which was now determinedly rocking him back and forth trying to coax him from his slumber. A closer look told him that the brown bush dancing in front of him was hair, belonging to an intensely enthusiastic Eragon. _Right. Today is Eragon's birthday. And he's being way too eager in the morning. So much for sleep then, _he thought, stubbornly screwing his eyes shut when he realized that Eragon was shouting at his ear.

"Wake up Roran, you sleepy dork! Have you forgotten what day it is? Roooran! Get out of bed already, we're gonna be late!" _Yup. Way too eager indeed._

--

Eragon had never been so excited in his life. He was turning 7 today, and his Uncle Garrow had promised to take him and Roran to the village as a treat. Now finished with the troublesome task of waking his lazy cousin, he was busy bouncing all around the house in a frenzy, trying to finish making bed, getting dressed, and eating breakfast as fast as possible. Garrow, being witness to the tornado that was Eragon, could only shake his head in wonder.

Eragon was all worked up for two main reasons. One is that he never got to take a trip to the village with all the farm chores he had to help with, and the fact that Garrow absolutely forbade him to go on any little adventures on his own. True, he didn't really follow this rule and played in the forest whenever the opportunity presented itself, but he was not foolish enough to test the wrath of his uncle and oddly-protective cousin by venturing as far as the village. He saved that little quest especially for today. He was a man now, at least by _his _standards, and his world just got a whole lot bigger.

The second reason concerns his loneliness more than his sense of adventure. He had vowed to himself the day before that he would find himself a new friend before his birthday ends, even if he had to tear the village apart to do so. And this is one promise Eragon refused to break. Even though he had met some of the villagers and had befriended them, he had never really had a friend to play with aside from Roran before. Really, playing with Horst or old lady Gertrude or grumpy old Brom would have just been a little _too_ awkward, not to mention _too_ weird, what with the age gap and all. Nope. Today he would make a real friend.

--

His brown eyes twinkled with glee as they set off. It was still early and the sun was low on the horizon, bathing the forest in the warm glow of the sunrise. The cool autumn breeze rustled the few remaining yellowed leaves on the trees and brought with it the unmistakable scent of the season. The surrounding scenery was a glaring testament that it was going to be winter soon, but it was all lost on Eragon. Any other day and he would have taken the time to appreciate every little detail of the path they were walking in, but today he was simply too giddy to have been able to stay still long enough for any kind of observation, let alone a thorough one. He's explored the forest many times before; right now Carvahall was waiting for him.

--

To someone who had never seen so many people before, Carvahall was the best place he had ever been to in his life. The moment they had reached the village, Garrow had immediately started to introduce "little Eragon" to the townsfolk they met along the way. Eragon was quick to give a wide smile and a boisterous "Thank you!" to each of the people who greeted him a happy birthday. It seemed to Eragon that he had already greeted half the population of the town when they have yet to meet anyone of the younger generation. This struck him as odd, but no matter; he would be able to fix that soon enough.

Roran and Eragon followed Garrow to what they eventually realized was the blacksmith, Horst's, house. Garrow stopped right outside door and before knocking, turned to the cousins.

"Now I have business to attend to with Horst, and it would probably take the rest of the day along with buying some food and supplies. You're free to either stay here with me or go explore the village on your own. What do you say?" Garrow asked them.

Roran pondered it over a bit before answering. "Well I'm sure we already know what Eragon's answer is, but could I stay here with you, dad? Honestly I don't wanna spend all day running around after the little gremlin here, and I doubt he wants me to come along and ruin his fun."

Eragon bristled a bit from being called a gremlin, but he decided to shrug it off and instead plead his case to his uncle. Roran was on his side anyway, for now at least. There would be a time to make him pay for that little insult.

"Can I please go alone, uncle? I promise I'd be careful! I wanna make some new friends!" he said, turning his big innocent eyes to the uncle in question. Garrow never had a chance. He sighed.

"All right then. Roran, you stay here with me while Eragon looks around town." He turned to the smaller boy and said with a stern gaze. "You, Eragon, are a man now, as you have led yourself to believe, and I trust you to act like one. I expect you to stay out of any trouble and not bother any of the people in this town. I also expect you to be back here by sunset."

Said "man" just nodded enthusiastically and, with a loud "Bye uncle! Bye Roran!" was off in a run.

--

Eragon had no idea how he was able to do it. Somehow he had managed to stray off the main paths, get out of the boundary of the village, and get utterly lost without him not realizing it until it was too late. It seemed he was more excited than he thought he was and was already greeting his new "friends" in his head even before he actually got to meet them. Snapping out of his birthday-induced trance, he found himself in a desolate forest to which he was woefully unfamiliar with. And it didn't help either that the clearing he was in seemed much too creepy, which was quite strange since it was still broad daylight.

He couldn't believe himself! His first time in Carvahall and he just had to land himself in a forest with no idea where to go. Making a mental note to himself never to daydream ever again, he resisted the urge to panic and opted to stop and think for a moment. And the more he thought about it the more he realized that he couldn't have gotten that far. He just had to go on the direction he most likely came from and he'd eventually be back in the village, right? _Well it's worth a try anyway, _he thought to himself, dimly turning around full circle to try and regain his sense of direction. _Right. That way then._

A few minutes along his chosen path and he realized that it was not leading anywhere near the village. In fact, it seemed he was much further away from the village than he started out to be. The course he took soon found him in a nice little clearing beside a lazily flowing creek. There were a number of white butterflies flitting about the fallen dried leaves, and the trees looked more inviting and "friendlier" than the menacing oaks surrounding him before. This clearing was considerably better than the previous one, but alas, definitely no nearer to his destination.

"I must admit, this is a really beautiful place, but I really have to get back."he said to no one in particular "At this rate I'm not gonna be able to keep my promise."

He was just about to retrace his steps to the "scary meadow" as he had dubbed it, when he heard something causing a racket from further downstream. And, true to the attention span of a seven-year-old, he decided to sate his curiosity and find whatever it was that was making those dull thunking noises.

He didn't have to go far when he came upon a dark-haired boy who looked to be a few years older than him repeatedly attacking a tree trunk with a real but blunt sword. He didn't seem to be angry yet he was attacking the poor tree with such vigor that small pieces of bark were flying off with each swing. The boy was in fact so focused on what he was doing that he didn't notice Eragon, who was watching in what appeared to be slight awe, until he was practically right behind him.

"Hi there! What are you doing?" Eragon perkily asked the boy, who had stopped hacking away at the tree bark to give him a calculating stare. Hazel eyes narrowed in confusion as the dark-haired boy took his time in answering.

He contemplated before raising an eyebrow and answering with a "Well, what does it look like I'm doing?" He certainly didn't expect the answer he got.

"Frankly, you look like you're just killing off this tree here," Eragon answered seriously, the sarcasm of the other's reply lost on his innocent mind.

--

Murtagh was having a strange day. He had traveled with Tornac all the way from Urubáen to this isolated village for some reason, only for Tornac to leave him at the entrance to the village the day they arrived, telling him to meet later. Not preferring to be around other people too much and with nothing better to do, Murtagh went off to the surrounding woods to train with his sword. It didn't take long for him to be interrupted, and now there was this little boy who has seemingly just insulted him.

"I'm practicing my swordsmanship, you idiot!" he said hotly, but not as angry as he thought he would be. "Why the heck would I waste effort and energy to kill off a stupid tree?"

"I don't know, you tell me! I was only being honest!" Eragon said defensively. "And I am _not _an idiot! My name's Eragon, what's yours?" he finished with a big smile, too excited at the idea of meeting someone to be put down even for a moment. Murtagh looked at him with a blank stare, unsure of how to deal with the little kid.

"My name is Murtagh. What's a little kid like you doing in the forest anyways?"

"Hey! I'm not a kid anymore! I turned seven today, which means I'm a man now. And…well…" he trailed off, suddenly remembering his earlier predicament. "I kinda got lost and now I can't find my way back to the village."

"Oh? And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd help me find my way back…Would you Murtagh? Pleeease?"

Murtagh didn't know what he was getting into when he suddenly turned his gaze into a pair of big brown eyes, silently pleading for him to help him. Trained warrior as he was, he had to admit the boy was cute and that there was no saying no to eyes like that. Murtagh found himself wondering for the second time that day what was unusual with this little boy he had just met. He ran pale calloused fingers across dark hair and sighed.

"First of all, Eragon, I want to make it clear that turning seven doesn't mean you're a man yet. Heck I'm ten and I'm not even a man, loathe am I to admit it. You become a man when you turn fifteen, okay? Secondly, sure, I'll take you back to the village, but _only_ if you stop looking at me like that!"

What Eragon did next caught Murtagh by complete surprise. He let out a great whoop of joy, and proceeded to glomp the air out of the older boy, screaming his lungs out.

"Yay! Thanks, Murtagh! You know, you're a lot nicer than my cousin Roran! Even though you did call me an idiot, but now that I think about it Roran's always calling me worse things, the big jerk!"

Murtagh could only smile dazedly at the little boy and pat him on the head awkwardly.

"I'm sure…err… I need to get my stuff now so you have to let go. It's a bit of a long walk to the village."

"'kay."

--

Murtagh led Eragon towards the direction of the village, the smaller boy holding his hand along the way. Needless to say, Murtagh was a bit uncomfortable with this, him being raised by a delinquent old king and having not much experience with intimate contact. With Eragon though, it felt oddly okay, as if he was meant to act like this toward the little boy, to protect him. He didn't notice curious brown eyes watching him in confusion. The younger, not one to stay silent for long, and noticing the other deep in thought, decided to break the silence.

"Hey Tag."

"Hmm?" 'Tag' responded, raising an eyebrow once again at the nickname given to him.

"Do you ever get lonely?"

"And why do you ask that?" His previously raised eyebrow joined its partner down into a small frown

"Well I was watching you think and I thought you looked a bit lonely, and I know coz it's lonely sometimes when the only people around you are your cousin and uncle." Eragon pointed out with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Murtagh was surprised. The little boy was more perceptive than he looked, and Murtagh saw that Eragon has felt the same pain as him. Tornac was the last person he considered family, and he had never really interacted with any other person outside training like he had with Eragon. Any other person and he wouldn't have given them the time of day, but strangely enough, he did with Eragon. They may have different lives and have different circumstances governing their lives, but they both shared the same pain of yearning for parents and siblings to call family. Now feeling more at ease holding the younger one's hand Murtagh heard himself answering before he could think any further.

"You're right Eragon. It does sometimes get lonely since I don't have many friends either" he said with a small smile to the boy, wondering why he was telling this to a seven-year-old kid. "And since my mother and father passed away, the only person I consider family now is my caretaker, Tornac. But I'm also glad that I still have someone to consider family. And you should be too."

Murtagh gave a rare smile to the little boy looking at him with a curious stare. Eragon seemed to think a bit, before nodding his head in answer.

"I guess I never really thought of it that way. You see I never got to know my mom and dad also. Uncle Garrow says that mom gave me to him when I was a baby coz she had too. And I dunno anything about dad. I used to be sad when I thought about it. But I'm happy now!" he smiled widely. "Not only do I have my cousin and uncle, I have a new friend now! I wish I could remember mom's name though. I keep on forgetting it for some reason. I do know it started with an S. Hmmm. Sarah? Nope. Celery? Well that's a stupid name…"

Murtagh could only give a small grin and shake his head as Eragon started blabbering on and on and as he got more and more off-topic. Murtagh soon found out that Eragon tended to be too chatty when given the chance and he didn't know whether to be extremely amused or frustrated. Feeling quite tolerant with the silly little imp a/n: nickname from Counter Clockwise by silver pup, he just settled for listening in relative silence. They spent the rest of their trek in such a manner, and soon after, they were facing the familiar streets of Carvahall.

They stopped right before entering the town itself, both thinking of what to do next. Eragon was torn between sticking to his original plan of making a whole new crowd of friends or just staying with Murtagh until sunset. He had grown quite attached to the older boy and didn't want to leave him just yet. Although Tag was a bit _too _silent for his liking, but that's not the point.

Murtagh had no idea what to do either. He'd already done what he promised the boy, but he was reluctant in leaving him. _What if he got lost again? And from what I've learned from him so far, he just might._ _Seriously, who leaves a seven-year-old on his own like this? _Murtagh haven't realized when he had started to feel just a bit protective of the cute little boy, but as the silence wore on he found himself more and more against the idea of leaving him. Just then, Eragon made his decision and decided to make it known.

"Hey Murtagh!" Eragon grinned widely.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not really expected over there," he pointed towards Horst's house visible from the distance "until sunset. So I'm gonna stay with you for now!" Eragon said this with a voice that left no room for argument and big brown eyes that were just daring Murtagh to disagree. And of course, Murtagh had no choice but to stay with him, not that he minded it much now.

"I don't suppose I have any say in this matter?" he asked, amusement lacing his voice.

"Nope! None at all!" came the happy reply.

"All right. What do you want to do then? We have a few hours still until sunset.

Eragon grinned mischievously when he finally thought of an answer, and seeing that look on his face made Murtagh consider regretting his decision.

"I want you to teach me how to use a sword!"

Yup. He was _seriously _considering it.

--

A few hours later found both boys leaning on a maple tree in a little clearing just beside the town. Murtagh had showed Eragon the basics of swordsmanship and was pleasantly surprised how easily the younger one was able to follow his instructions. By the end of their training session, Eragon was now moderately proficient in using a sword, no where near fighting level, but better than when Murtagh had first held a sword. Struck by the odd silence that seemed to permeate the clearing, the hazel-eyed boy finally noticed that Eragon had, in fact, fallen asleep, and his head was on the verge of drooping onto Murtagh's shoulder. And it seems the sun was following the sentiment, on the verge of disappearing beneath the horizon as well. Murtagh made a quick decision.

Wincing when he felt the unmistakable plop of drool on his shoulder, Murtagh carried the imp on his back towards the house he had pointed out earlier. He didn't have the heart to wake up the exhausted brown-haired boy but he didn't want him to be scolded for being late either, so he clumsily lifted Eragon's small frame onto his back and set off. When he got to what he correctly assumed to be the blacksmith's house, he was met by Garrow, who looked a bit concerned, and Roran who had his eyes narrowed suspiciously at him.

"What did you do to Eragon you bastard?! Why I oughta…" started off Roran but was immediately cut off by Garrow's voice.

"Be quiet Roran! And what did I say about cursing?"

Roran looked about to protest but changed his mind, but not before throwing one last heated glare at Murtagh. Garrow turned to the dark-haired boy.

"May I ask, young man, why my nephew is currently passed out on your back?" he said neutrally.

"Actually I met Eragon a few hours ago in the village," started Murtagh, wisely choosing not to mention Eragon's being lost in the forest. "He asked me to teach him a few tricks I've learned and apparently he got tired from all the excitement. It was a good thing he was able to tell me where he was expected to be before falling asleep."

"Yes, I suppose so. Eragon's always been an excitable little boy. Thank you for bringing him here. I hope he hasn't been of much trouble to you."

"Oh no, not at all. I don't mind."

Garrow raised an eyebrow as he took Eragon from Murtagh, clearly surprised that Eragon apparently was of "no trouble". Roran, on the other hand, just brooded at Garrow's side, not liking Murtagh one bit. Just then, a dark-haired man dressed in what looked to be warrior's clothing came up to them and addressed Murtagh.

"Here you are. I was looking all over for you. Come quick, we have to be back as soon as possible." Tornac turned towards Garrow "Murtagh and I have to take our leave sir. I hope he hasn't been of any trouble to you." And with that, he led the hazel-eyed boy towards the gates.

Just before they got out of earshot, Murtagh heard Garrow speak.

"Eragon sure had an eventful birthday. Look at him, he's exhausted. Sleeping like that, he looks just like his mother Selena."

Murtagh stiffened in his gait. _Selena? It can't be. Could it?_

_--_

**Author's notes:** And here it is, my attempted comeback into the fanfiction industry. I hope this fic was enjoyable. Please read, review, and tell me whether I deserve to come back into the fanfiction world. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Still haven't bought it from Paolini… Getting there, though…

**Author's notes: **I know I placed it on complete before, but you have to admit, the story needed to be continued. hehehe. Also, it seemed quite a good idea at the time. So here, my readers (who are hopefully going to leave a REVIEW), is the next chapter. It's not very good, I'm afraid, but bear with it. This takes place when Murtagh saves Eragon from the Ra'zac, their second meeting after so many years. I took the first part **exactly **from the book, and then it starts to get farther and farther away from there. READ AND REVIEW! (No, seriously. It's read AND review. It's NOT read OR review, and definitely not read AND NOT review.)

--

**Part taken from the book starts here.**

For a long while, Eragon was aware only of the burning in his side. Each breath was painful. It felt as though he had been the one stabbed, not Brom. His sense of time was skewed; it was hard to tell if weeks had gone by, or only if a few minutes. When consciousness finally came to him, he opened his eyes and peered curiously at a campfire several feet away. His hands were still tied together, but the drug must have worn off because he could think clearly again. _Saphira, are you injured?_

_No, but you and Brom are. _She was crouched over Eragon, wings spread protectively on either sde.

_Saphira, you didn't make that fire, did you? And you couldn't have gotten out of those chains by yourself._

_No._

_I didn't think so. _Eragon struggled to his knees and saw a young man sitting on the far side of the fire.

The stranger, dressed in battered clothes, exuded a calm, assured, air. In his hands was a bow, at his side a long hand-and-a-half sword. A white horn protruded from his boot. His serious face and fierce eyes were framed by locks of brown hair. He appeared to be a few years older than Eragon and perhaps an inch or so taller. Behind him a gray war-horse was picketed. The stranger watched Saphira warily.

"Who are you?" asked Eragon, taking a shallow breath.

**Part taken from the book ends here.**

Moments passed as the stranger continued to observe the young rider and dragon curiously. He seemed in no hurry to give any sort of answer, nor any sort of acknowledgment to the query. Seconds turned into short minutes for Eragon under the man's impassive stare, and just when he was about to relinquish hope of receiving a reply, the man seemed to come to a decision, tightening his pale fingers on the bow.

"You are still bound, rider." he spoke in a deep, detached voice yet which betrayed a hint of unknown emotion.

Eragon frowned at the poor evasion of question, but nonetheless took a closer look at his miserly state. The burning in his side had yet to subside, and it didn't seem as it would do so soon. As he tried to reach up a hand to assess the damage, tight ropes around his wrists restrained him. Realizing that he was sorely helpless with his hands bound behind his back, he reached for the magic inside him, accompanied by Saphira's low, threatening growl. He glanced briefly at the other man then, deciding it couldn't do much harm, released his magic.

"Jierda!" he grunted.

The thick ropes fell off his wrists with a light snap, prominently startling the other, who widened his eyes a fraction. The reaction, however, lasted only a fleeting moment before the man was able to recover and compose his features into indifference. Slightly confused at the rather lack of reaction and quite irked at such apathy, though he didn't know why, Eragon shakily stood up in childish indignation, only to fall back harshly onto the ground with a dull thud.

Suddenly alarmed, Murtagh, for the stranger was he, hastily tried to come to his aid, only to be stopped by an angry snarl. Saphira watched him in grave suspicion, giving a low growl as she took a defensive position over her rider. Murtagh narrowed his eyes at the dragon before addressing her.

"Step aside, dragon!" he snapped. "I am merely trying to help your rider. Had I meant you any sort of harm, I would have done so ages ago when both of you were still bound!"

Saphira stood her ground, her sapphire eyes boring into narrowed hazel ones as Murtagh returned the draconic glare, neither making no move to back down and submit to the other's will. Tense moments passed between the two when their silent match was suddenly interrupted by pained groaning from the ground. Eragon barely managed to shakily push himself into a sitting position before calming his dragon.

_Let him by Saphira. This man saved our lives. I suppose we have no choice but to trust him for the moment, for I am currently too weak to tend to our injuries alone._

Saphira considered, casting another distrustful glance at Murtagh who was watching the silent exchange in bewilderment. After giving one last growl in warning and a glint in her eyes that seemed to say _I am watching you_, she tucked her wings by her side and moved back, letting Murtagh rush to the rider's side. Eragon made a move to stand up, but Murtagh quickly pushed him lightly back into sitting.

"We must learn the extent of your injuries first." he said simply, pressing a large hand onto Eragon's battered side. Eragon cried out as sharp pain raced up his back from his bruised side.

"I cannot be sure," Murtagh started. "but you may have a couple of broken ribs, maybe more. Aside from that, however, you are relatively unharmed. You are lucky."

Eragon, wincing at the pain, caught on to the implication of the statement.

"Yes. I am lucky." he said miserably, casting a glance at Brom, who was lying down near him, half-naked, except for the bloodied bandages wrapped around his torso.

Murtagh hoisted him up, pulling him to stand. With unsteady legs he went over to Brom's side before starting to undo the bandages hiding the deadly Ra'zac wound.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Murtagh. "He'd bleed to death without those."

When Eragon gave no notice, Murtagh simply shrugged before announcing that he was going to make some soup for Eragon. "You're weak and you need to eat something," he said, leaving Eragon to finish his task of revealing the wound.

It was unusually thin, belying its depth, and Eragon guessed that it went right between Brom's ribs. It had barely begun to heal, and Eragon knew that wounds inflicted by the Ra'zac are like so. Once again, he reached for the wells of power within his consciousness, silently asking for Saphira's aid. Eragon felt the unmistakable feeling when Saphira's mind joined with his. He raised his palm over to Brom.

"Waise Heill"(A/N:forgot the spelling)

At first it seemed as though nothing was about to happen. Eragon, alarmed, almost recalled his magic when suddenly, slowly at first, Brom's torn flesh and muscle started knitting back together. Eragon was met with flawless skin moments after, disguising the grave injury he was unable to heal lying beneath its depths. Utterly exhausted, he slumped back onto the ground beside the old rider.

_We have never done anything like that before. _he remarked.

_Together, we are capable of greater feats. Will the old one be all right, little one?_

_I do not know Saphira. I am hoping that he will be._

Murtagh came back with soup not long after, taking the sight of Brom's seemingly healed injuries in stride. He gave a bowl to Eragon who, famished, dug in with gusto. He sat down and took a bowl for himself, pausing between slow spoonfuls to start a conversation.

"Is he completely healed?"

"I'm afraid I've only mended what was on the outside." Eragon replied dejectedly. "I don't know enough to be able to heal him entirely. The rest is all up to him, I guess.

"I see." Murtagh paused in contemplation. "Snapping thick ropes and healing injuries with magic. You've certainly grown, Eragon."

"Would you care to tell me how you know my name?" the rider replied, setting down the bowl, surprised and wary. He couldn't quite place it, but something seemed awfully familiar with the man now that he had the time to note his appearance. Wild, dark hair framed a handsomely-angled face, a face which shone palely under the light of the fire. It was an awfully familiar face, a memory dancing just out of his reach. Sharp hazel eyes regarded him with amusement in his confusion before the dark-haired man gave a reply.

"Oh, you've forgotten me already. I was hoping you'd remember me but alas, you have wounded me deeply." Murtagh claimed dramatically, almost ridiculously, holding a hand to his apparently-pained heart. It took quite a while before something clicked within Eragon, bringing him within reach of one particular memory, a treasured memory of his very first friend, an exasperated boy reminding him again and again to use the sword as an extension of his body and not wave it around like a stick, someone carrying him half-asleep on his back as the sun set on the horizon, and then, nothing more. Yes, Eragon had remembered, but he had to make sure.

"Murtagh?" he asked unsurely, a surprising joy starting to well up inside of him. "Is that really you?"

Murtagh smiled fondly.

"So you remember me, now. I'm glad…" He trailed off, mentally bracing himself for the onslaught of questions that were sure to come. Sure enough, they came, but for the second time since he befriended Eragon, he was surprised by an excited hug from the younger man. It was different than the first time—Eragon was still injured and barely had the energy to wrap his arms around Murtagh—but for a second, Murtagh was back in the forests around Carvahall, teaching a brown-haired little boy how to wield a sword. It was unsettlingly nostalgic.

"It's nice to see you again, Tag."

"You too, little kid."

--

They spent the rest of the evening catching up with each other's stories. Saphira was asleep, weary from standing guard over Eragon for hours, leaving the two to talk to each other undisturbed. Eragon had told Murtagh how he spent many fruitless days looking for him in the village, asking anyone who gave him time about a black-haired boy with hazel eyes. He told him sheepishly how he moped for days soon after, when he realized that Murtagh wasn't of Carvahall, a mere visitor, and that it was more than likely they would never meet each other again. He described how he practiced fighting with sticks whenever time allowed it so that he wouldn't forget what the other taught him, skills which made Brom raise a curious eyebrow the very first time they had a spar. But most of all, he told of Saphira, how he came to get his hands on her egg, how he raised her and fed her, and how they left Caravahall after Garrow's death.

Eragon's cheerful attitude gradually died down as he told his story, just as Murtagh grew grimmer as Eragon started relating stories of his dragon. So far, it was actually a one-sided conversation, with the young rider giving the brunt of the words and the older man merely giving small responses, a nod here and a raised eyebrow there. But Murtagh had his own story to tell, and he wasn't quite sure where to begin it. Finally, it seemed as though the brown-haired teen had finally realized his endless chatter and gave the other a chance to talk.

"What about you, Murtagh? Heh-heh," he said, sheepishly scratching behind his head. "Tell me your story."

The other remained strangely silent, having a heated debate within itself. After they came back from Carvahall, Murtagh took the first chance he got to ask Tornac about his mother. It had taken him many persistent afternoons and one victorious sparring match to finally convince Tornac to tell the story. And what he learned surprised him in the least.

Murtagh was not an only child, he learned. Unknown to him, Selena gave birth to another boy, whom she fondly named Eragon. By then Murtagh had already received the wound which would forever haunt him as a terrible scar, and taking him away from the prying eyes of the king and the rider Morzan was impossible. Frightened by what may happen to her youngest son, Selena had no choice but to take Eragon away, to entrust him to the care of her only brother and to hope for the best. Tornac didn't know who and where Selena's brother was, and it was probably for the best, he said, so that the king may never find out. But Murtagh knew then, and it troubled him. His brother was in Carvahall, and he would be unable to return to that far-flung region for many years yet to come.

After some silent moments, where the young rider waited curiously for an answer, Murtagh started.

"Do you remember what you told me about your mother back then, Eragon? How she left you under your uncle's care?"

"I remember." Eragon replied, confusion seeping into his features. He didn't know where this was going.

"You never did remember that afternoon what her name was, did you?" Murtagh continued cryptically. Eragon frowned.

"Not really. I was quite a forgetful child back then, always occupied with the next game I wanted to play. These days though, her name is one of the most important memories I have left of my family." Eragon finished sadly, once again straining to recall just one sliver of a happy memory she shared with his mother. But there was none, and nor will there ever be.

"I understand." Hazel eyes shone in sympathy as the other regarded Eragon's statement. Almost unsurely, Murtagh continued. "Would you mind telling me her name?"

"Selena. Selena was my mother's name." Once again, a frown graced Eragon's features. "Why, Murtagh? Why are you asking me this?"

"Eragon…" Murtagh paused anxiously. "I don't know how to tell you this, but my mother… My mother's name was Selena as well."

The young rider was shocked into silence. It took a little while for his weary mind to take in the message of what Murtagh was saying, but when he finally realized it, he didn't know how to feel. If both their mothers were named Selena, then that would make them brothers. _Brothers…_Eragon thought. Somehow the idea didn't sound so ridiculous; in fact, it was a welcome revelation among the multitude of ill-fortune befalling him these days. It was both unbelievable yet incredibly easy to accept, as though it had always just been an unspoken truth, waiting to be put into words. _I have a brother? _he asked himself. He had to make sure.

"Tag, are you saying that we're brothers? Of the same flesh and blood?" he asked anxiously, almost hopefully. A silent nod was the reply. Yet Eragon's surprise was still making it difficult for him to accept it.

"Are you sure? Perhaps our mothers merely have the same namesake? Selena might not be a very uncommon name after all."

Murtagh shook his head. "Of this I am sure. My mother had given birth to only one other child, a child she named Eragon, a child whom she was forced to entrust to her brother. That child was you, Eragon, my own _baby _brother." he said, giving a particular stress to the word "baby". He smirked playfully at said brother, considerably lightening the mood of their conversation.

Eragon pouted.

"Well that was mean…totally uncalled for."

Murtagh laughed.

Eragon huffed, though he would never admit it, childishly, crossing his arms as he did so.

"I merely speak the truth, little brother." Murtagh paused, smiling sadly. "You have no idea how nice it feels to be able to call you that, to have someone to call family again…"

He trailed off.

"Actually, I do know how it feels." Eragon said, giving a small smile of his own. "I know it very well…"

A contemplative lull befell their conversation, and during this time, Eragon realized something, frowning as he thought more about it.

"Murtagh?"

"Hm?"

"If we're brothers, you and I, how come our mother left me in Carvahall? Didn't she…Didn't she love me? Was I an unwanted child?"

At this Murtagh's façade darkened greatly, the pleasant smile vanishing from his face to be replaced by a pained grimace. Memories flooded his vision.

"Our mother loved you very much, Eragon, I swear it. And it was for this reason that she was forced to do what she did to save you."

"To save me? Why then? What was the reason behind it all?

Murtagh's grimace turned into a bitter scowl, as if the very memory he was thinking of left a rancid taste in his tongue.

"Eragon… Our father was Morzan… Morzan of the forsworn."

For the second time that night, Eragon was shocked into disbelief. The revelations seemed to pile onto one another, each one as bizarre as the next, growing more and more unreal. Having already accepted the fact that Murtagh was his brother—he had always fondly entertained the idea especially when he and Roran got into terrible rows—Eragon was yet again faced by a seemingly preposterous prospect. Morzan couldn't be his father, could he? He couldn't have been sired by such a ruthless man…such a beast! It was all so impossible, as if it wasn't him sitting beside that fire, but he realized that he had already received much bigger surprises than this— Saphira's hatching, Brom's history, and now, beside him, his own brother. No. Deep down, he knew that what Murtagh said was the truth, how unpleasant it may be. He stole a glance at his big brother, who was looking miserably at their campfire, silently awaiting the cruel rejection. Something clenched in the rider's heart, and suddenly, everything was clear.

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The end! I hope you like my story! Heheh! .

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Kidding! Hahaha.. (I just had to try it….)

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Let's continue…

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Murtagh cursed himself silently. All those years of looking forward to this day, the day when he can finally be with his brother again, ruined! Everything had been going so well, and he was more than glad that Eragon accepted him as his brother. But he just had to get his anger get the best of him. He didn't fully understand what made him reveal their father's name so thoughtlessly; remembering Morzan and all the despicable things he did brought a thick cloud of hate in Murtagh's consciousness, making him say the first thing that came to mind. _Stupid! _he berated himself, stopping his hand from straying towards his scar just as his thoughts are doing. His frustrations with himself grew and grew until it came to the point where he merely waited for the inevitable rejection in poignant acceptance. _Eragon will never accept such a foul idea. Now he will never accept you as well! _But it seems, once again, he was wrong.

Murtagh had been ready to simply walk off into the night, to leave before he got to see the repulsion in Eragon's eyes. What he wasn't prepared for was to receive a second hug that night, from a sympathetic Eragon. He hadn't even been able to give off a sound of surprise when he was once again wrapped by foreign yet familiar arms. It seems fate was smiling down at him tonight, and hesitantly, he returned the embrace.

"Don't look so down Murtagh." Eragon finally said, chuckling, then pulling back. "Our father could bloody well be Galbatorix himself and I wouldn't care… None of it all matters... Just so long as you are sure that we're brothers…You are certain, right? "

The hazel-eyed man didn't know what to say. Here was Eragon, who just found out he was the son of one of the most hated men in Alagaesia, and he was accepting it all in incredible stride. Murtagh, in fact, couldn't bring himself to believe how understanding his brother was being.

"I'm sure of it."

"Then I'm glad…"

A comfortable silence fell between Eragon and a quite-relieved Murtagh. They spent it in quiet reflection, thinking of what they've just been through, of everything that was said, and of all the terrible secrets revealed. Of course they have yet to tell their whole tales to each other, but that could wait another time. Any more surprises would be one too many for the night and just sitting there, knowing they're with family, made them feel content. Of course, it wasn't long before someone broke the silence.

"You're headed for the Varden, right Eragon?"

"Aye. They are the only refuge we have. And what's with this "you" business? You're coming as well, aren't you? Or are you planning on leaving me again?" the rider asked suspiciously.

"Of course not! Not if I can help it." Murtagh said defensively. "But I'm sure the Varden would be less than willing to shelter the son of Morzan."

"Nonsense! We are _both _sons of Morzan, and if they're willing to lock you away for not being a rider like I am, then they very well would just have to lock me up as well! I'd like to see them try." Eragon hmphed and, loathe was he to admit it, pouted.

Murtagh had to smile. Eragon had said it all so surely (childishly, I might add) and so adamantly that he had no choice but to put his faith on his little brother and believe. He could see the fire in the rider's eyes, and he could see that he was telling it all from the bottom of his heart. If all goes well, then nothing would be able to tear them apart once again. Neither of them, it seems, would allow it.

"Hey Tag?"

"Hmm?"

"None of those hugs happened."

" Ahh. Of course not. They were _manly _embraces."

"That they are, then. That they are..."

With those words the matter was settled, leaving them to decide to tuck in for the night. Both of them could afford to sleep, as their camp was secure enough not to need watch, for tonight at least. The excitement had drained them of most of their energies, even though they've done nothing but sit and exchange words. Their tiredness weighed heavily on their eyes, yet they couldn't be happier. They had time to get to know each other better in the future, after all, tomorrow, and the days long after.

For Brom though, time had just run out.

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**Author's notes: **So how'd ya like it? It wasn't really good, but I hope it was enjoyable. I tried very hard to tone down the fluff, and I hope that I was able to accomplish an acceptable level of "love". Oh and the last part with the "None of those hugs happened" bit was entirely unoriginal, you would notice, even though I tweaked it a bit. By the way, this is probably only gonna be part one of I'm thinking two chapters in this timeline. After that, I'm still deciding. Whew! I barely made it before the weekend ended. Fanfic cliché: Press the pretty little button!


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